


Arrangements

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [574]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:53:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: the-lady-razorsharp askedArranged marriage, historical au, Thunderbirds. (You have permission to shoot mearranged marriage/historical/very AU





	Arrangements

“I feel trussed up like a Sunday roast.”

Scott continued to calmly tie John’s tie, folding the silk over and under and over again before yanking it tight. “Well, it can’t be the heir, father would never sign his fortune away. And Virgil is still in school, and the others even younger. It has to be now…you know why. Therefore it has to be you.”

Scott’s words reverberated around John’s head as he walked the last long walk up the hall to the drawing room. It would be the first time the room had been aired since mother…

John slammed that thought back into the trunk deep in his mind, where all thoughts of how happy they were before now resided. He was here, and she wasn’t, and they were waiting on him.

One of the maids bobbed a curtsey, her eyes sad and consoling, and John had a scant moment to wonder what the gossip of downstairs was saying about his newly arrived bride.

His bride. Two words he never expected to say.

“Right on time,” his father boomed as John slipped inside five minutes late, barely opening the door. John was used now to the way father’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and paid it no mind.

Despite the maid’s best efforts, the room smelt musty, old cellars and mourning black so thick he could taste it on the back of his tongue. Behind it was a hint of nearly-forgotten perfume, and John snuffed it up, must and all, even as leaden feet crossed the rug.

The scent of perfume grew stronger, and John bit his lip in the face of a sensory puzzle. “Hugh, my second boy, John.”

John shook hands on autopilot with the man in an old-fashioned top hat and cravat. “Son,” he said warmly, and John nearly snatched his hand back. “May I present my only daughter-” the threat was implied so clearly it almost gleamed in the low light. “-Penelope.”

John was engulfed in the scent of once-familiar perfume as a vision in pink so pale as to be cream rose from the wingback, the one that mother used to sit in and read to her boys sat on the rug around her. Past and present collided, and John almost swayed as a slim, gloved hand reached out as if to steady him.

John caught it like a lifeline, and she smiled. “As you are to be my husband, I think you may call me Penny.”


End file.
